4 A Dead Mother

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “Okay, we’ll take another look, and I’ll ask him about his crew, too, as well as what he was doing in the house,” Jerry offered.

  “How about ‘Dee with no last name’?” Kim asked. “She’s the one who left that note you found on the side table in the foyer, right?”

  “Yes. I hope Leslie will know who she is. If not, another possibility is that she works for the Interior Designer in some capacity. I’ll follow up with Holly Grant and see if she knows who Dee is.”

  “I can do that,” Kim said. “Should we run a check on Holly Grant and her assistant, too, whether that’s Dee or someone else?”

  “Gosh, I suppose so. Holly’s another person whose background we scrutinized early on. I’ve known her for years. Alexis hired her more than once to spruce up a room or two at the Rancho Mirage house. I’ve never heard a complaint about her, but you never know, do you? Add her name to the list and a note that she also had a key. She must not have passed it along to Dee if it turns out she was at Beverly’s house on an errand for Holly. If she had a key, she wouldn’t have mentioned Steve Landis was kicking her out to lock up.”

  “That’s a good thing that she’s not passing that house key and security code around to her staff, anyone could have made a copy.”

  “Good point. The Haute Hounds Pet Sitter service has a key, too. I don’t know anything about them or their service. I suppose the fastest route to securing the house is lining up a locksmith to have the locks changed the moment Leslie agrees to do it.” I jotted down yet another item on my ‘to do’ list. I was beginning to get butterflies in my stomach about being overwhelmed. It isn’t as if all I’ve got to do is play detective. My other clients had a right to expect me to complete their work. I’d just begun to feel like I’d climbed up out of the hole I’d fallen into after Jim and Mom went into crisis mode at the same time.

  “Kim, I’d also like you to do more digging into the financial position of Beverly’s HOA. I checked before Beverly bought her house. We pulled all the documents to make sure the HOA had adequate reserves and there weren’t any big assessments pending for homeowners. I’ve gone back over the financial documents and don’t see anything I missed, but you never know, do you? Please check again and get the most recent ones, okay?” I asked.

  “I will. You know from the mess at Pinnacle, Jessica, how much fiction can be written into balance sheets,” Kim said.

  “Yes, that’s always possible. The finances at an HOA are a lot simpler, though, than those at a multi-national firm like Pinnacle. We’re talking about five million in reserves and two or three million in annual operating expenses, so less money to play games with than was available to the psychopaths at Pinnacle.”

  “This is a long list, already,” Jerry said as he reviewed the list. “We really need to cut it down.”

  “Establishing alibis for their whereabouts when Beverly died should help do that,” I said.

  “Tommy can do the online queries about their backgrounds, and I’ll help make the rounds to question HOA members and neighbors. That way we can get this done quickly. Why don’t we split the list, Jerry?”

  “That’s a good idea. Then, the moment Beverly’s death is officially a murder inquiry, we’ll be set.”

  Kim leaned over as they negotiated their way through the list. I went over the notes I’d made during our conversation to be sure I was clear about what issues to bring up with Leslie. A rap on the door ended our planning session.

  “Come in,” I said.

  “There’s a detective here to see you. She says you’re expecting her.” Amy stood in the door, poised for my response.

  “Her?” I asked as I took a business card from Amy.

  “Yes,” Amy replied, dropping her voice almost to a whisper. “That’s why I wanted to deliver the message in person—to make sure you didn’t look the way you do now when she strolled in here.” Amy was smiling. “Surprise, huh?” I nodded.

  “Rikki Havens,” I said reading the name on the card aloud.

  16 True Detective

  I made a round of introductions once Amy returned with Detective Rikki Havens. We all stood up when the detective entered the room. Jerry, of course, drew all eyes in his direction. At six-foot-four, the striking man loomed over the rest of us.

  “It’s nice to meet you. I wish I could stay, but I’ve got another appointment.” None of us could resist watching him as he strode out of the office.

  Once he left the four of us stood there, looking each other over. Detective Havens was a little taller than me, but appeared to be in much better shape. Not that I could tell for sure. She wore what I would describe as the female equivalent of the bad suits male detectives wore. Her pantsuit fit a bit better and was much less wrinkled than the one Detective Hernandez had worn the evening before when he’d responded to my call from Beverly’s house. Still, it’s as if there was a catalogue somewhere that specialized in a Columbo-line of nondescript, awkwardly-fitting detective wear.

  “Won’t you have a seat, Detective Havens,” I said, pointing to the empty chair next to Kim. “Can Amy bring you coffee or water before we get down to business?”

  “Coffee, if it’s not too much trouble. I bet you’ve got the good stuff in a place like this,” Detective Havens wore a smile that was somewhere between smug and rueful. Kim bristled at the remark. I decided to give Detective Havens the benefit of the doubt, settling on rueful.

  “Nabbed me already,” I said. “Guilty as charged! I’m an unrepentant caffeine addict. I could use a cup of the good stuff, too, Amy. How about you, Kim?”

  “Might as well. Our true detective pal will figure out soon enough that we’re thick as thieves around here when it comes to coffee-addict capers,” Kim smirked. The detective looked like she’d been nabbed, as she shifted uneasily in her seat.

  “I won’t be but a minute,” Amy said, trying to hide a little smile as she scurried out of the room.

  “Sorry if that sounded snarky. I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with you. I’m new to the area and all the wealth just strikes me as over the top—pretentious, too. Not to mention that this case got treated as a suspicious death right away without any significant evidence of foul play. A woman of advanced age found dead, imagine that? Oh, wait, make that a rich elderly woman.” As she spoke, the conciliatory tone began to be replaced by the snarky one. She shifted in her seat again, pulling at the front of the jacket to the charcoal gray pantsuit she wore.

  “A prominent local philanthropist found dead in a ditch by a road strikes me as odd. What do I know?” I tried to mimic the more conciliatory tone Detective Havens had used earlier as I continued. “Where are you from?”

  “Upstate. Near Calistoga.”

  “That’s wine country. Wealth can’t be such a new thing for you, can it?”

  “No, that’s true, but it’s just less obvious there. Growing grapes and making wine is a dirty business. Folks back home aren’t so prissy or ostentatious,” she snipped.

  “Or maybe they’re better at keeping it hidden amid the dirt roads and manure.” Kim would have said more, but Amy popped back into the room with mugs of coffee on a shiny polished wooden tray. A pot of refills and a plate of cookies were on the tray, too, along with tiny containers of milk and sugar.

  “Wow, that was quick,” I said.

  “You’ve been at it for hours already, Jessica. I figured you’d be ready for a caffeine boost even if nobody else wanted a cup, so I had a press pot ready.”

  “Ooh, a French press. Fancy!” the detective exclaimed.

  “You can add coffee snob to caffeine addict when you write up your notes about this meeting later. Yes, we use a French press around here. Grind the beans, too.”

  “I forgot to ask if you take it black, Detective. Help yourself to cream and sugar if you prefer it that way,” Amy said as she set a tray down on a side table next to the detective. Then she handed cups of steaming black coffee to Kim and me. “They drink it black.”

  “Me, too
,” Rikki Havens added, reaching for a cup from Amy. “Thanks,” she said as she lifted the heady brew to her lips. The room was awash in the aroma of fresh coffee. The mood shifted. Detective Havens looked as though she might swoon, as she let out a little sigh. “Nothing wrong with being rich, I guess.”

  “This is Sulawasi Kalossi. It’s not cheap, but you don’t have to be rich to enjoy it, either. A French press and bean grinder are also inexpensive, so you too can become a coffee snob whenever you choose.” Despite the edginess in the detective’s earlier comment, I couldn’t get too worked up about it as the dark roasted jolt of caffeine took hold of me. In fact, I smiled when I delivered that invitation to snobbery.

  “Wait until you try those cookies,” Kim added. “They’re homemade.”

  “You bake?” The detective asked, her brown eyes widening as she looked from me to Kim and back to me.

  “No. Not me,” I replied. “Not often, anyway.”

  “Don’t look at me, either,” Kim added. “These are gifts from St. Bernadette.” Kim stood, walked around the detective, and picked up the plate of cookies and napkins. She passed them to the detective, and me, before taking a couple for herself.

  “St. Bernadette?” Detective Havens asked as she took a bite of one of Bernadette’s delicious Mexican chocolate butter cookies. Bliss struck!

  “Yes, now you know why we call our friend St. Bernadette—divine don’t you agree?” Kim asked the detective who was obviously savoring the buttery morsels.

  “No doubt about it. I’m going to have to charge you both with attempting to bribe an officer of the law. Heck with the attempting part, I’ve taken the bait,” she said in a muffled voice as she stuffed the rest of the cookie into her mouth. She picked up the coffee she had set on the side table and took another big swig. “Bribery, no doubt about it.”

  “Let’s get down to business, shall we?” I asked as soon as I could swallow. I wasn’t sure if her last comments were meant to be jovial or sarcastic. “Some of us rich folks have to work for a living, too. I already have quite a list of people in Beverly Windsor’s life that you might find worth interviewing if you continue to treat her death as suspicious.”

  “Oh, it’s suspicious all right. Here’s one thing that just might help trim your list a bit. The preliminary report from the coroner says Beverly Windsor was hit from behind. Blows from a blunt object. A gun, most likely, given the shape of the lacerations on the victim’s scalp, although we’re still working on that. Not the butt of the gun directly, but kind of a swiping motion as if the assailant had been pointing the gun and then hit her with it, several times.”

  “You must feel so much better about this assignment now that you have evidence of foul play,” I quipped tersely. “If the assailant had a gun, that could explain why Beverly was out on the road, wouldn’t it? I could imagine Beverly getting into a car at gunpoint without a fuss, more out of concern that a guest might get hurt than concern for herself. Since she was hit from behind, I take it the person holding the gun was in the backseat of a car that dumped Beverly on the side of the road.”

  “That’s what we figure, yes.”

  “Why abduct her and then kill her so soon?” Kim asked.

  “Good question. It wasn’t for money since the woman wasn’t kept alive long enough to ask for a ransom.”

  “Then what were they after?” I asked.

  “Information, maybe. More than just what was in her head since, as you know, her house was burgled later in the day. I take it that means she didn’t have what they were looking for on her and wasn’t willing to get it for them.”

  “Not in her car, either, since they made a stop there, right?” I asked.

  “That would appear to be the case,” Detective Havens replied. “Hernandez says whoever broke into her house had gone through her desk and other drawers where the woman kept personal papers, receipts, her checkbook, and items like that. You know that already, though, since Hernandez said you called it in—to homicide.”

  “Yes. I called Detective Hernandez since it struck me as too big a coincidence that a break-in had occurred so soon after Beverly Windsor turned up dead. I hoped if someone left prints or some other identifying information in her house, it might lead back to the killer.”

  “I haven’t been to the scene yet, but Hernandez tells me the place wasn’t trashed. All the drawers and cabinets searched as if they were hunting for something specific that might be kept in a location like that. Paperwork, a letter, or maybe an email since the laptop still hasn’t turned up. Unless her daughter has it.”

  “I called Leslie Windsor this morning to confirm our lunch meeting. She said the laptop was kept on the desk in Beverly’s study. Leslie doesn’t have it and doesn’t know where it is if it’s not in her mother’s home. I take it you didn’t find it in Beverly’s car.”

  “No. There wasn’t anything interesting or out of the ordinary about what we found in the vehicle—a couple of receipts, ticket stubs, stray change, a doggie toy, and bottles of water. Typical items people leave in their cars. It could be the laptop was the item Beverly Windsor went to fetch from her car, if finding her sunglasses under her coworker, Ruth St. Armand’s, car means she got that far. Maybe whoever met her in the parking lot got what they wanted.”

  “Then why search the house a few hours later? The General Contractor told Hernandez the house was fine when he locked up earlier that afternoon, and I was there by six. That’s a narrow window of opportunity for a random burglary, and risky in broad daylight,” I asserted.

  “As bizarre as it seems, it could have been a coincidence.” She paused, her coffee cup hanging in the air. “I’m not buying that either, though.” She set her cup down and leaned toward me. “Maybe she handed over the laptop, they thought they had what they wanted, and killed Ms. Windsor. Then, maybe, they discovered whatever they were looking for wasn’t on the laptop after all. They watched the house until it was empty, let themselves in, and made another attempt to find what they were looking for in the first place.” Rikki spread her hands and shrugged her shoulders.

  “To quote another detective friend of mine, ‘I hate it when all we have in the investigation of a crime is a bunch of maybes. You can’t build a case on maybes.’ Saying maybe too often is one of George Hernandez’ pet peeves, by the way.”

  “I heard he’s not a fan of kismet, either.” I winced at the mention of that term. Hernandez and I had gone a couple of rounds over my use of that word. Rikki appeared to be amused. “Offhand, do you know if she had a safe-deposit box at a bank or somewhere else she kept important papers?”

  “We have copies of her medical directives, durable power of attorney, health care proxies, and revocable living will. Her trust documents, too. Car titles, insurance, and deeds to her property must be in a safe in her home along with her more valuable jewelry and collectibles.”

  “Expensive stuff even with all the renovations going on?”

  “Yes, as far as I know. I can check with her daughter this afternoon or you can ask her if you’re going to join us for the walk-through.” I made yet another note for my conversation with Leslie. It was going to be a long lunch. “I don’t think that’s what the intruder was after since the officer at the scene said they found a jewelry box in the master bedroom with items still in it. What I don’t get is why kill her before they were sure they’d found whatever they wanted from Beverly?”

  “Stupid, huh? My best guess, given the ferociousness of the attack, is that whoever killed her either lost it and beat her to death in anger, or decided it was better to go ahead and shut her up since she wasn’t being cooperative. Here’s the punch line to this part of my story. The coroner found a woman’s fingernail tangled in the victim’s hair. A long, bright red one. Does anyone you’ve already met come to mind?”

  “Not really, since I haven’t met all the women on my list. They’re all people who were involved in or aware of problems in her neighborhood.”

  “If I were you, Ms. Hunting
ton, I’d keep it that way. Why not share that list with us and let us do the dirty work?”

  “We don’t mind getting our hands dirty, but I do know how to share,” I said and then pressed on before she could say anything else. “So, a woman did the ‘dirty work’ when it came to murder. That helps a little. Before we take the men off our list, though, it sounds like more than one person was in that car with Beverly.”

  “Yes. We believe the female assailant was in the backseat. That means a partner was at the wheel, although we don’t know if that person was a male or a female. The preliminary report also mentioned finding several strands of brown hair, too long to be a man’s.”

  “From the driver or the assailant?” I asked.

  “If I had to guess, I’d say from the killer in the backseat.” The detective shrugged, picked up another cookie, and took a bite. “My hunch is that the driver was a man. Your client was shoved out of that car with enough force that she rolled a couple of times—down the embankment into the shallow ditch where the police found her. That required considerable upper body strength. Not unheard of in a woman, but more commonplace among men.”

  “I can’t imagine the two of them planning on things turning out as they did, can you?” I asked.

  “No, I can’t. If we find our woman with the broken fingernail, I won’t be a bit surprised if she gives up her partner. She’s a vicious one. I doubt loyalty’s a strong suit.” Rikki Havens shook her head. I was glad we had those cookies. Kim had been right to refer to this woman as a true detective and in true detective fashion, she was on the verge of snarling and snapping. Kim sensed it, too.